


Stuck in a Moment

by alreadysomeone



Category: JAG (TV 1995)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alreadysomeone/pseuds/alreadysomeone
Summary: Webb and Mac are stuck in a walk-in refrigerator.
Relationships: Sarah MacKenzie/Clayton Webb





	Stuck in a Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Season 8-ish?

“All clear here. That's it for the building. Let's lock it up. Sergeant Michaels, nice work. Good luck tomorrow, guys,” I say over the radio to the Marine team I'd been training.

JAG’s expertise has been enlisted in Quantico in light of some recent, and very badly botched raids on al-Qaeda locations, primarily in Pakistan. The actual raids went well, with the prisoners taken easily, and no casualties. But, papers, computers, and other electronic and hard copy evidence hadn’t been properly documented or handled by the raid teams. It’s crucial that everything be photographed, catalogued, and bagged, not only for intel purposes, but, if legal prosecution is ever pursued, the protocol for evidence-handling needs to be strictly adhered to.

Sergeant Michaels, who was heading this unit, had been easy to work with and was a good leader. I think once the teams know what they need to do, they’ll have no problems executing the task of properly securing the evidence. My portion of the training, the legal stuff, is over for this team. We had three days in the classroom, primarily on international law, then today’s practical exercise. The mission was to complete a sweep and pack out any critical evidence from this building, which was set up as a working meat packing plant, with an al-Qaeda “ops center” in the offices at the back of the warehouse.

Tomorrow, the team will be hit with the heavy stuff. The Marine trainers are probably right now getting tomorrow's exercise site ready, installing booby traps, ambush points, and other “challenges” for the guys to face. I’ll be observing, making sure that they continue to put into play the procedures I trained them on, even in the face of those obstacles.

This TDY assignment has been a refreshing change of pace for me; I’ll be here for another four weeks, as the Marine teams rotate through my classroom and the field exercises. I’ve elected to stay on base instead of commuting, since traffic’s a real bear, and it’s nice to get out of the office now and then; I prefer this to a ship posting any day.

I glance around the dark storage room I’m standing in before making a final walk-through of the building, starting with the spacious walk-in refrigerator. I enter the cooler and as I check around the backside of a mock-up of a side of beef, I run into someone, and it scares the crap out of me. They’re not in uniform – no one should be in here anyway – and my instincts take over. Whoever it is, hits the ground in a matter of seconds, with my knee at the small of their back.

“Hey, let up, Mac. Let me go!” a voice I’d know anywhere whines at me.

“Webb?! What the hell’re you doing here? You scared me half to death.” My heart’s pounding from the surprise of encountering him, and though I help Webb back into a standing position, I do it roughly.

“Scared? That's not very brave for a Marine Lieutenant Colonel,” Webb says, dusting his clothes off. He’s dressed all in black, from his boots and jeans, to a thick cable knit sweater.

At his sarcasm, I step forward, illustrating my willingness to take him down again. “You want to say that again, Webb?”

He gets my point, and starts to explain, while he stands with his hands on his hips, trying, I think, to look like getting tossed to the floor was no big deal.

“The Company’s interested in how the Marines are being trained for this kind of raid. I’m particularly interested in how they perform tomorrow. We’re looking for an exceptional team to recruit for a CIA op. I came down a day early and thought I’d drop by to see how your portion of the training was going – and to ask your opinion of this team.”

“You could’ve chosen a better way of getting in touch with me, you know.” Like calling or something, I think to myself. He’s always got to be so sneaky.

“I was just heading outside to find you. You’re the one who snuck up on me, you know.”

“I’m doing a final walk-through. Come on, let’s get out of here; it’s cold.” He starts towards the door, and I follow, anxious to leave. “Is the CIA putting you up some place nice, or are you making the commute?”

“I’m at the Visiting Officers’ Quarters, actually. I’ll be here until I find the right team for our purposes. Could be another month, but I’m hoping not,” Webb says, looking over his shoulder as he reaches out to open the door.

“After I get some chow, we can sit down and I’ll give you some notes on this team.” Instead of opening the door, Webb’s just standing there with his hand on the latch. “What’s the matter?” I ask.

“Door’s stuck.” He looks from the door, to me, and back again, jiggling the lever that should pop the door open.

“Ha, ha.” I assume he’s still yanking my chain. Webb’s good at that, though this kind of prank seems out of character.

“Hardly. I don’t joke about certain things, and being stuck in a walk-in meat locker is definitely one of them.”

“Funny.”

“Not really. It’s jammed.” Webb steps away from the door and gestures for me to give it a try.

Well, hell. He’s right.

And of course, in trying to be as accurate as possible with what the Marines would encounter in the Middle East, doors like you’d find in this type of cooling room in the States weren’t installed – there are no safety mechanisms on this door. I pull my radio out, and try to raise Sergeant Michaels. But, there’s no answer.

“Well??” Webb impatiently intones.

“Well…,” I say, back to him, cranking up the mockery. “We’re stuck. Michaels and his team must’ve already turned off their radios.”

“We’ll just have to break our way out of here.”

We try the door a few times, leading with our shoulders. First me, then Webb, then both of us at the same time. That door’s not going anywhere.

“You have a weapon on you? We can just shoot the latch and get out of here.” I figure Webb’s paranoid enough that he’d be carrying, even when on base as an observer.

“No. It’s back in my room. What’s wrong with yours?”

“This is a *non* live fire exercise,” I say, pointing my MP-5 at him and squeezing the trigger, which only results in activating the laser light, putting a red dot on his chest.

We pace silently. Minutes tick by, and I’m no closer to a brilliant escape plan; I assume Webb isn’t either. I’ve started to get really cold. We’d worked up a sweat trying to force the door open, and now that we’ve resigned ourselves to the fact that we can’t manhandle our way out of here, I’ve cooled down and am getting chilled. So I start to do jumping jacks, and Webb looks at me funny.

“You find this amusing?” I say, bringing my hands over my head, then back down again, as I move my feet apart and together.

“You think this is the right time to do aerobics?”

“I’m freezing, Webb. Trying to stay warm.” Duh. What did he think I was doing? Though from where he’s looking, I’m pretty sure he’s enjoying the show of my breasts bouncing up and down.

“If you keep that up, you’ll just exhaust yourself, and succumb to hypothermia all the sooner.”  
I halt my actions, and then let my hands drop to my sides, my legs still in an open stance. He’s right. If we really are in here until morning, which is when I figure Michaels will turn his radio on again, or someone will notice I’m missing, we run a pretty high risk of hypothermia.

“Yeah,” is all I can say.

“Give me a hand, we can use these to sit on. And it’ll help a little against the cold,” Webb says, looking over his shoulder as he reaches to take down one of the “sides of beef,” which are made from straw-stuffed burlap sacks. We set up a kind of couch next to one of the walls, propping up a couple of the sacks behind us to lean on.

I sit down, tucking my legs beneath me, in the hopes of keeping a bit warmer that way. Webb looks at me. “I’m not that flexible.” He does sit cross-legged, though.

“Sit closer, you’re warm,” I request, with practicality in mind, but it comes out as a terse order.

“Who can refuse that come on?” Webb says dryly.

“Yeah, right,” I snort.

“Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“I know.” It probably is a good idea to maintain a sense of humor.

Webb scoots closer, and crosses his arms over his chest. I’d normally think he was being evasive, or was trying to make himself seem imposing, but, I think in this instance, he’s just trying not to feel the cold so much.

“Well, since we’re stuck here, Mac, tell me something about yourself that I don’t already know.”

“Gee, Webb, I’d have assumed you already knew every detail of my life.” I’m going for humor, but there's more than a bit of truth in my words, and that comes through.

“I’m trying to be friendly here. Is that so hard to imagine? I do *not* know every detail of the lives of my friends and colleagues.”

“Okay - don’t be so defensive, I was kind of kidding anyway. Why don’t you ask me something?” I try to steer us back to a lighter conversation. But it strikes me that I want to know if he puts me in the friends or colleagues category.

“Have you slept with Rabb?” Webb blurts out, but he’s keeping his eyes focused on the wall opposite from where we’re sitting.

I’m taken aback by the question, though I guess it’s not that unnatural of a query, considering my history with Harm. But it’s still unexpected coming from Webb, and so bluntly, too.

“That’s cutting right to the chase, isn’t it?”

“Well?” He turns to face me now, and his gaze is intense, the green in his eyes winning out over the other colors that dance in flecks around the edges of his irises.

“No. And to save you the trouble of asking, in spite of popular belief, and what might’ve been the case in the past, I don’t want to either.” No sense in not being honest, and I’m sure Webb knows me well enough to tell if I were lying.

“You’re a smart woman, Mac.”

The smile he gives me is really nice, and some of the gold tones in his eyes get brighter. I definitely think I’m in the “friend” category, and I guess I consider him in that grouping, too, which feels nice.

“Took me a while to smarten up, but thank you, Clay. Okay, my turn. What’s your middle name?”

“Per . . .” is all I can hear him say.

“What? You’re mumbling. Come on, it can’t be worse than mine.” He’s still not talking, so I try to entice him. “Okay, what gets said here tonight, stays here. Deal?”

“Deal.” Webb clears his throat, “It’s Percival. Wait… there’s no middle name listed on your service record, nice trick.”

“Back up. I need a minute to enjoy the fact that your middle name is Percival. As if Clayton weren’t bad enough.” I just can’t pass up the opportunity to tease him.

“Hey, what’s wrong with Clayton?” There’s absolutely no conviction in his voice.

I just shoot him a look that says, “Duh,” and he shrugs in concession.

“I guess it’s not the ‘manliest’ of names, and may have been the source of much teasing in primary school. Now, fess up.” He demands reciprocal information from me.

“It’s Lee. But it’s not on my birth certificate, I think my parents made it up when they enrolled me in school.” I’m hoping against hope he won’t put it together with my first name.

“Sarah Lee? As in ‘nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee?’” Damn. Predictably, Webb sings the Sara Lee bakery jingle.

“Like I haven’t heard that one before. You’re a much better singer than most, I’ll give you that though.” It’s true; he’s got a nice voice.

Webb confesses to singing in high school, in musicals no less. I tell him that I’m impressed. “A man who can sing is sexy. In fact, a man who can sing, but is a little embarrassed about it, is even sexier.”

Perhaps I should’ve phrased that a different way. Webb looks at me with a smirk playing on his lips, like he really wants to believe me. I get caught up in his eyes again, and for some reason, I try to convey that what I said is true, and that it applies to him. But, sharing this kind of moment is foreign to us. This isn’t how we interact; this kind of friendly conversation, and familiarity between us is such uncharted territory, I start to get nervous.

Standing up, I begin to pace around the room, explaining, “My legs are falling asleep, I need to walk around.”

Webb watches me, tracking my progress. After a minute, he gets up too and wanders to the far side of the cooler, ending up leaning with his back against a wall, one knee bent in front of him as his foot rests on the wall behind him, and his head tilted back.

I think we’re both trying to figure out how to get out of here so we can return to our normal, professional relationship. I really would like to leave, and I’m not convinced we’ve thought through all our options. I look at Webb, and it strikes me that he looks really good standing against the wall that way. Dammit, something’s changed here. Even if we were to be sprung from this meat locker right now, I don’t think there’d be a way to avoid the fact that something between us has shifted.

I begin to feel a little giddy from the realization, and from the cold. And I’m suddenly instilled with confidence. As I start to talk, I make a decision. I take a step closer to Webb every few words. “I think if we’re going to get out of here, we need to put our heads together and figure this out.” When I finish talking, we’re face to face, our torsos almost together.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

You can see our breath in the air, and I watch as we exhale, and the clouds of warm, moist air intermingle. His eyes flit to look at something over my shoulder for a second, then he looks back to my face, and smiles before kissing me.

His kiss is soft and almost simple. It’s damned nice, too. Comforting in a way, but it also makes me feel sexy and very desirable, leaving me curious about what it’d be like to do more with him.

Pulling away he smiles again. “What?” I ask. It’s okay to be all smiles after you kiss someone, but he looks downright like Howdy Doody, and it’s a little annoying. Is there something funny about how I kiss?

“We’re getting out of here,” he says, slipping away from his spot between me and the wall.  
I turn to watch Webb walk across the room, and pick up a claw hammer that was sitting in the corner. I can’t believe we didn’t see it before.

Webb picks up the hammer, and starts going at the door handle. Eventually, his blows loosen the screws where it’s attached to the door, and we can see that the whole thing’s about to fall off. Webb tosses the hammer aside, motions for me to come closer, and puts his arm around me. Bracing himself, he kicks at the door, which swings open. We tumble out together.

Finally out of the cold, the 65-degree air outside the walk-in cooler feels downright tropical. We start laughing kind of hysterically, both very happy to be warm again, not caring that we’re kind of tangled up together on the dirty floor. I catch my breath first, and have a good time watching Webb regain his composure.

“Nice work,” I note.

“Thanks.” He has to look up at me, since I’m kind of on top of him. When he does, and I look down, we kiss again.

This time, the kiss isn’t simple at all, but some of my curiosity is being satisfied. He puts a hand behind my head and holds me close, his lips part and I reciprocate. Our tongues tentatively meet, and begin to explore. In the relative heat of this room, his mouth feels even hotter. Webb smells like the straw we were sitting on, but I detect a hint of cologne, or maybe it’s deodorant or laundry soap. Anyway, it’s clean and very appealing. I can’t help moaning a little. It feels so good the way we’re kissing, he’s incredibly sensual. At my noise, Webb shifts our positions so that I’m lying all the way on top of him, and he pulls me to him even harder. We’re getting out of breath pretty quickly, and, as we try to get some air, I think it hits us at the same time – we can leave; we’re not locked in the cooler any more.

“I guess we should get out of here. Report that the lock will need to be repaired or something,” I say lamely, not really wanting to end what we’ve got going on between us, but feeling like I need to say something. And, making out on the floor of a mock meat packing plant on base in Quantico isn’t really an ideal situation.

“Yeah.” Webb lets go of me, and moves to get up.

All of a sudden it’s really strained between us. Webb won’t look at me, and I’m avoiding him as well. I sigh inwardly, wondering if we’re going to have to talk about this, and what the hell I would even have to say about it. I’m feeling totally turned upside down. There’s going to be no denying the mutual attraction between us, but what’s it mean, and do we try simply ignoring this incident later on? I lead the way to the door to the outside, and am so totally surprised to find it locked, I can barely believe it.

“Door’s stuck,” I say in wonder, still kind of confused to find it that way.

“You choose now to be a practical joker, Mac?” He’s mimicking my words, but it’s a gentle tease.

“Um, no, actually. Michaels must have padlocked the building when he left. I was going to do it on my way out, but he probably thought I’d already gone.”

“Then we’re here for the night,” Webb notes, matter-of-factly. It’s a simple statement, but, in light of our recent actions, the words carry much more meaning.

“’Fraid so.” I turn around. The look he’s giving me is somewhere between lustful and so nervous he’s going to pee his pants.

I suddenly remember what we said earlier about nothing from tonight ever leaving this building, and I must get the same look on my face that he’s got, because part of me wants to jump him here and now to take advantage of the situation, but the rest of me is petrified. From the way we’d kissed earlier, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t turn me down, but still… it would be an irreversible change in our relationship.

“Is there someplace to, at least, get some sleep? I’m supposed to observe that exercise tomorrow, I need to be alert,” Webb says suddenly.

I’m completely disappointed. I guess I really did want to take that leap, and throw all caution to the wind. I get it together quickly, taking a step back from him to clear my head.

“Yeah, there’s a small room off the offices that’s got some cots in it.”

I take him to the back section of the warehouse, and we walk up the wooden staircase that leads from the main floor where the packing machinery sits, to the suite of three offices, and the room with the cots. The two cots are along opposite walls, and though there are no lights in this room, the bare bulbs that hang in the office spaces provide enough illumination. I offer to take one of the cots into an office, so we can each have our own room. As I start to drag it, the thing completely collapses in a heap on the floor.

Webb laughs. Snorts really, then when I look up, and see the brimming mirth in his eyes, I bust out laughing, and he joins me. The whole situation is completely ridiculous and unbelievable.

“Come on, Sarah Lee, we’ll share,” Webb says, bending to pat a spot on his cot.

His face then disappears underneath his sweater as he pulls it over his head and off, leaving him in a kind of snug fitting black t-shirt. As he sits to untie his boots, I notice his muscular arms, and an image of those muscles being used on me pops into my head.

“Okay, Percy.” I put the same soft tone of endearment in my nickname for him that he’d used in saying mine.

I walk over to where he’s just finished taking his boots off, and I stand between his legs. My hands travel up to start unbuttoning my uniform shirt. Webb’s fingers lightly touch the last button at the bottom, and he fingers it for a moment before passing it through the buttonhole, and looking up at me. Our hands meet in the middle, on the last button left to be undone. I undo it, and he keeps his hands covering mine as I do. Webb slides his arms around my t-shirt-covered torso, while I shed my outer layer. His head rests on my stomach, and I run my hands through his hair, down to his neck, and over his shoulders, to squeeze the muscles, on his upper arms, which I’d admired from across the small room.

Webb looks up at me, and smiles while he reaches one hand to squeeze my rear, and sets the other to work at un-tucking my t-shirt. I help him with his task, yanking the shirt up and over my head, and onto the floor in one motion.

“Thanks,” Webb says. And because his mouth is now between my breasts, his voice is muffled.

I giggle a little, and surprisingly, he giggles back. I guess we’re both nervous about this. But it doesn’t seem to be too much of a hindrance, because Webb’s reaching around me to unhook my bra. Together we get rid of the garment, and he, gently at first, holds my breasts in his hands, fingertips brushing my nipples. The pressure increases, and he puts his mouth on me. Hot breath and soft lips caress my nipples, and then nibble my skin. There’s a kind of metered-out pace to his actions, and I’m getting totally lost in the way it feels.

He’s alternately gentle and forceful; first caressing, and then biting. There’s no pattern, and I find myself practically panting in anticipation of first one sensation, then the other. My hands want to touch more of his skin, to further our encounter. I reach down and start tugging impatiently at his t-shirt, and he has to break contact with my breasts as I get it over his head.

As soon as his shirt’s out of the way, I’m anxious to kiss him again. Taking care not to overturn the cot, I straddle his lap, with my knees on either side of his hips. Sitting down on him, I roughly grab his head and kiss him long and hard. This time, he moans. The sound is low and sexy, and I grind my hips into him. Webb pulls our chests together, and the feeling of his skin on mine is incredible. I rub my nipples over his chest, feeling his own nipples harden to peaks in reaction.

Our pace is fast and furious, but I slow it down as I slide my hands down his back and enjoy the feel of his muscles. My tongue sweeps through his mouth, and Webb pauses to suck on my lower lip. His belt and pants are the next thing on my mind, so I go for it. As soon as my hands are on his belt buckle, Webb moves his hands to my pants too. We get kind of tangled up, and have to separate to get our pants off.

The pause in action gives us time to consider what we’re doing. I’ve got no idea if he’ll put the brakes on, though from the way we’ve been making out and groping, I’d be very surprised if he did.

“You’re going to find out a lot more about me tonight than my middle name.” I reference our earlier conversation.

“I sure hope so,” Webb’s voice is a soft rumble, and the wetness that was building in me increases. How did I never think he was sexy before?

I hook my thumbs into my pants and underwear, and wiggle them both over my hips. Webb freezes, his pants open at the fly, but not down yet, and he watches me. I wiggle more than necessary, for him, and when I’m done, he walks to me and I swear, he tries to touch every inch of me. His hands are everywhere. On my breasts again; fingertips run from my torso to my waist, and over my hips. He crouches down low and slides his palms up my legs, around to my backside; and then, there’s one hand on my mound, one still holding my ass. His fingers splay my lips apart and as he goes in for a kiss, one finger slides toward my opening, just barely teasing me there. His tongue teases in my mouth at the same time, darting in, and then out. Finally, he eases his finger inside me at the same time that he kisses me fully, our tongues firmly passing over one another.

When we break to catch our breath, he says, “You’re so soft and sexy. And wet.” He punctuates his sentence by pumping two fingers in and out of me.

I’m lightheaded, and cling to him to keep steady. “You didn’t know that about me before?” I tease.

“The sexy part, yes. Soft, I’d guessed. Wet, I’ve only fantasized about.”

“Now I know a little bit more about you.” I’m surprised that he’d have had fantasies about me before. I mean, he’s said stuff that’s made me think he thought I was attractive, but that’s not necessarily followed by imagining someone naked. Or, maybe it is, for men.

The conversation serves to give him the opportunity to finally get his pants off. I step back and take advantage, watching, as he’d watched me.

“Well, Webb, now I know a *big* thing about you.” Male anatomy isn’t really all that attractive on its own, but I like the idea that beneath his seemingly prudish exterior, and under those three-piece suits, he’s really well endowed.

My statement makes him blush furiously. “You looking at something?”

“I’d rather be touching something, come here,” I sit on the cot and gesture for him to come to me.

Webb’s hands brush my hair back and he bends over for a kiss. I reach for his hips, and wander one hand to his thigh, where I make spirals with my fingers, tracing them higher and higher, until I’m brushing his balls with each rotation. Every time I make contact there, he hums into my mouth. At last, I stretch my fingers over his cock; his hips thrust immediately into my hand.

After a few minutes of him standing there, bending over me, I try to pull him closer and realize that we’re going to have to be extremely careful if we really are going to have sex on this cot. Webb smiles against my mouth, no doubt realizing the same thing.

“Ever do this before?” he asks, kissing my neck.

“You mean on a cot, right? ‘Cause I’ve had sex before.” There’s something about Webb that just begs to be teased, even in this situation.

“You know, you’ve got a real sharp wit there, Sarah Lee,” he says as he stands up to look down at me. Again, when he says ‘Sarah Lee’ his voice is soft and gentle.

“I like the way you say that. And, no I’ve never done it on a cot before. Why, have you?” With his cock practically at eye level, I lean forward and take him in my mouth, in what I hope is a surprising move.

“Uh, no. We’re intelligent people though, we can figure it out.” I feel his fingers in my hair and can hear in his stuttering voice that he’s enjoying what I’m doing. I caress his balls, and my tongue makes swirls around his shaft, as I suck lightly, before letting him go to speak.

“We should probably also figure some other stuff out.”

“Yeah. Like, I can easily figure out that neither one of us has any condoms here.”

“I’m doing those new patch things.”

He looks down to my crotch, with a puzzled expression. I laugh, and take his hand to place it on the small, flesh colored patch, which is just over my left hip, that delivers the pregnancy preventing hormones.

“Ahhh, interesting. Learn something new every day. Not sure how I missed seeing that before,” he keeps his hand there, tracing the outline of the rounded rectangular patch.

“Handy for a gal on the go,” I joke before getting to the really awkward part of this conversation.

“One more obligatory question. I’ve been tested, and I’m okay,” Webb gets right to it.

His hand moves to my mound and finds my clit, distracting me for a moment. After a pause, I preface my answer with a kind of moan, “Uhhmmm, me too. Being in the military on the ready for deployment definitely keeps you abreast of your STD status. Though, I’ve had nothing to worry about in some time.”

Maybe that was a mistake to tell him that, but I don’t want to seem like I get around or anything. I’ve no opportunity to think about that, because Webb puts his hands on my shoulders and gets me to lie down on the cot. Once I’m prone, he tugs me farther down, so that my legs are hanging over the end. He kneels before me, and begins kissing my legs, starting at my knees.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I watch as he places his lips on my skin in random places on the way to the juncture of my legs. His eyes are closed, and he seems to be soaking me in – breathing deeply and making each kiss of his lips last, to be slow and very sensual. The anticipation is terrific, my core is aching for his touch, and at the same time, I’m reveling in this slow torture.

I don’t know when I started making noise, but when his lips *finally* fall over my clit, I know utter a moan louder than the rest. He smiles into the hair where his mouth is, and teasingly touches his tongue to my clit. I can’t help bucking my hips into his face, dying for the contact. He backs away and proceeds to lick me in long languorous laps from my opening to my clit. I’m close to begging, and think I know how to get this show on the road.

“Oohhh, Percy,” I say.

Webb stops moving all together, then kicks it into high gear. He slips two fingers inside me, and begins to suck and lick my clit. It takes less than a minute before I’m spiraling out of control, holding his head close to me, and loving the way he’s brought me to climax.

As I begin to relax, Webb sits back on his heels, and wipes his mouth. “Ohhh, Percy?” he asks, grinning ear to ear.

“Got your attention, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but that could’ve backfired. I might’ve gotten annoyed and decided to prolong your agony.”

“A sweet agony it was, though.” He’s incredibly talented in that department.

Webb – or Percy – as I think I might start calling him, stands up, and then lies down gently on top of me, “I’m not too heavy, am I?”

“No, you feel great.” Our hips press together, and I feel his erection against me.

Webb’s lips find mine, and when he kisses me, I can taste myself. He must be a little self conscious about it because he’s being really tentative. I break the kiss and he asks, “Do you mind?”

“No, it’s kind of sexy. You’re very good at that.”

“Thanks,” he whispers before kissing me hard and fast, no longer hesitant at all.

He moans into my mouth as I reach to his rear and press him against me. We kiss and pivot our hips together for a while. I really want to feel him inside me, so I gingerly begin to spread my legs apart. Webb lifts himself up a bit so that he can settle back down between my legs, his cock pressing at my entrance.

I lift my hips and encourage him inside, and after a slow series of increasingly longer strokes, he’s all the way in. I reflexively squeeze him, and that starts his motions. Slow and steady soon turns into fast and frantic. I’m opening myself up as much as possible, bringing my legs high up to feel him inside me as much as possible, while grabbing his ass and feeling his powerful muscles working as he slams into me.

Shifting on the cot, praying I don’t tip us over, I angle myself so that he’s hitting my clit with each stroke, and he asks, “Like that?”

“Just like that,” I pant.

“Can you come again?” Webb wants to know. Smart guy, not assuming anything, but clearly wanting to make this as good as possible for both of us. I appreciate his openness.

“Oh, yeah. Don’t stop,” I lift my head to kiss him some more, and the way he shoves his tongue into my mouth is all it takes to put me over the edge again.

As I’m coming, I feel him pulsing inside me, and we end up completely collapsed and sweaty on the cot, which, I’m sure has never seen “action” like this.

“Sarah Lee?” Webb whispers.

“I swear, if anyone else were saying that, I’d have to smack them, but I like it from you.”

I feel his lips curve into a smile against my neck. “Can I call you that next time I’m at JAG to enlist your help with an op?”

“Um, no, *Percy,*” I say pointedly.

“Gotcha.” Webb slowly lifts himself off of me, and asks if there’s a bathroom in the building.

I point out the direction to the toilet, and then walk around the room to gather my clothes before heading there myself.

Once we’re dressed again – because in spite of how warm I felt after getting out of the cooler, it’s kind of chilly with no clothes on – we climb onto the cot together, face to face.

“What time is it?” Webb asks.

“2327,” I whisper, feeling sleepy and very comfortable, in spite of our unusual circumstances.

“Thanks.” I feel a tender kiss at my temple just before I drift off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Next thing I know, it’s much brighter in the room, and I realize that it’s 0720. Looking at Webb's peaceful countenance, I’m loath to wake him. He opens his eyes on his own, and smiles when he sees me looking at him. Lovingly, he tucks a stray hair behind my ear, and then pulls me in for a brief kiss. My growling stomach interrupts us.

“Now, *that* I knew about you,” he laughs.

“I’m starving.”

At that, we get up and both stretch a bit; after spending the night in essentially the same position on the skinny cot, I’m stiff. I hear my radio crackle and come to life; it makes me jump in surprise. It’s Sergeant Michaels, asking where I am, and if I’m okay.

“He must’ve missed me at breakfast,” I tell Webb.

I inform Michaels of what happened, and about our unexpected guest, telling him that we’d like to get out of here in time to get some chow, and to observe his team today.

“No problem, Ma’am, I’m almost to you now.”

I turn to Webb, who’s watching me intently. I guess I’m not quite ready to face the “real world” yet either. He pulls me into a hug, and we stand there in silence until we hear Michaels opening the main door to the building.

As he enters the building, it hits me to ask, “Hey, how long did you say you were staying for?”

“As long as it takes to find a team for the op.”

Michaels is calling my name from downstairs, and I have to yell that we’re on our way. Quickly, I press my lips to Webb’s then turn to exit the room and head down.

I introduce Webb to Sergeant Michaels, and he drives us back to the VOQ. We’ve got just enough time to shower and change, grab some coffee and bagels, and to head to the exercise site. I give Webb some notes on this team, and he decides almost right away that while they’re very good at being Marines, he doesn’t think they’ve got the knack for subtlety that he needs on his op. But, he stays with me in the communications truck the rest of the day to watch the team on the closed circuit cameras. It’s dark in the truck, and, when he can do it without being seen, his hand rests on my thigh, occasionally making circles or other patterns on my leg with his fingers.

At the end of the day, I have to meet briefly with the training team to prep a few things for the new class that’s coming tomorrow. When I get back to my room at the VOQ, there’s a note under my door that says, “Sarah Lee, how about trying it in a real bed?” It’s signed, “Percy.”

I call Webb’s room, and we agree to go for dinner, off base. I dress in the only decent outfit I’ve brought with me: a pair of snug black jeans, and a red long sleeve stretchy top that’s got a square, and kind of low, neckline. When Webb comes to my door, he’s in clean and pressed khaki pants, the black boots from last night, and a deep blue sweater.

“Wow,” he says, appreciatively.

I pull him into the room and close the door to give him a kiss. We spend a couple of minutes kissing and touching before going to a really nice steak house for dinner. There’s a ten-minute wait, and when they take his name, he gives it as, “Percy.”

“You adopting Percy as an alter-ego?”

“Not an alter-ego, exactly,” is his cryptic answer.

Back in his room, after dinner, Webb’s got me up against the door as soon as it’s closed, and we barely make it to the bed. After last night I think we’re both feeling less than adventurous in terms of surfaces. However, through the night, as we make love, our positions are less than conventional, and when we sleep at last, I know I’ll be sore tomorrow, but in a good way.

The next two weeks pass very pleasurably. Webb observes my classroom portion of the training, comes along on my practical exercises, usually hanging out near the walk-in refrigerator, and then we both observe the next day’s exercise. We spend our evenings together, going to dinner, taking walks or using the gym on base, and spending the night in either his room or mine.

When the third team starts my course, by lunch on the first day, I know they’re the right guys for the CIA op. I’m happy for Webb, but sad that he’ll be leaving in a few days.

“They’re the ones,” I say to him, when we’re in bed that night.

“Yeah,” he says into my hair, his lips kissing my scalp. “I told you you’d be able to tell immediately, you have a good eye. I’ll stay for the rest of their training, then get them attached to my op. I’ll leave when they’re done here.”

“Will you be going with them?”

“I’ll be on the carrier with them, and will monitor the op from there.”

“Good.” I have no idea how to say, ‘I want you back in one piece because I really like you, and want to keep seeing you, even when we get back home.’ So, I just decide to bite the bullet and say it, just like that, admitting my nervousness.

“I’m really flattered. I mean, I want that, too,” he replies, and it makes me really glad, and kind of excited.

The next few days pass far too quickly, but after he’s gone, I keep busy, and am very glad to be home when my assignment is finished here. Home proves easier to deal with; I was lonely in Quantico without him.

We email frequently, and he calls me when the op’s over to let me know it was a success. I was in court when the message came through, and Petty Officer Coates answered my line. She left me a handwritten note that said, “Someone named Percy called and said it all went really well. Good training. Home in three days.”

Smiling, I tuck the note into my briefcase, and start to count the minutes until he gets back. Taking a bit of a risk, he calls me from a payphone in the Rome airport and talks a bit dirty to me, but I can’t do anything about it because I’m at the office. When he’s finally back, I pick him up at the airport, and take him to dinner. At his place later, he presents me with a long, hand-woven rug from Kuwait. I actually don’t have many items from all the traveling I’ve done, and it will go really well in my hallway.

“Can I take you to bed now?” he says, obviously really pleased that I love the rug so much.

“You bet, Percy. Let’s go.”

END


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